


Well Played

by BelaLugosisJustResting (orphan_account)



Category: British Actor RPF, British Singers RPF, Christopher Lee (Actor), David Bowie (Musician)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Class Issues, Cultural References, Dubious Morality, Everyone Has Issues, Infidelity, Loneliness, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Games, Painful Sex, Pathos, Period-Typical Homophobia, RPF, Rimming, Satire, Sexual Harassment, Spanking, Stalking, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/BelaLugosisJustResting
Summary: What starts as a game of chess and traded barbs soon spirals into a tale of manipulation, lust, and obsession.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a famous 1978 picture of Christopher Lee and David Bowie shaking hands and smiling. The story was that they were planning on recording something together, but of course my mind had to go here.

I met Mister Bowie in 1978, not long after my career had taken quite a few notable missteps. (Peter Cushing had appeared in _Star Wars_ that same year, so I figured that he was too busy to speak to me at the moment.) The last time I had seen Mister Bowie in any sense was in the theater during a screening of, _The Man Who Fell to Earth._ Unlike the titular character I saw onscreen, though, he had bleached blonde hair and all of his clothes on. There were a few others with him, and it was his idea that he and I play a game of chess while we spoke.

There was an ornate playing table in the back room that had markings on it for several different games, and the pieces were stored in a hidden drawer on the side of it. As Mister Bowie played white and I played black, those around us got to both see and hear how well we fared against each other.

“So,” he said as he moved his knight first, “how has Hollywood been treating you?”

"not badly.” I moved my pawn two spaces forward. “You were in a film, too, weren’t you?”

"Oh, you saw that?” He moved his pawn. “I suppose you saw a good deal of me, then.”

I moved my knight and said, “You could have used a body double like I have.”

He laughed, along with the people watching us. “Well, I didn’t really mind doing it. It’s good to take risks.”

“I don’t think I could do such a thing.” I moved another pawn.

“Not at your age.” He took my pawn with his.

As I endured the laughter from our audience, I decided to move my other knight whilst changing the subject. “You know, I’ve done some singing myself. Operatic.”

“Really?” He moved his knight. “Tell me more.”

We continued like that for a while. As I took his knight, I told him that I practiced my singing in the shower. As he took another pawn, he told me about his theater background. And, as I took his other knight, I asked him if he had worked with Orson Welles like I did.

“Hmmm.” He stared at the board with a furrowed brow before moving his bishop. “You’re good.”

“Well, it comes with experience.” I took another of his pawns with my knight. “I’m sure you’ll get there.”

“Really?” He took my knight. “How old are you now?”

“Older than you.” I took another of his pawns. “And I’m sure I could be a recording artist as well.”

“Well,” he said as he made use of his queen, “why don’t you? You’ve certainly waited long enough.”

I gave him a look before taking another of his pieces. “I’m afraid I’m not into what they call ‘music’ these days.”

Even though I won the game, it wasn’t before Mister Bowie agreed that he and I should meet in the studio to work on a song together. The crowd around us seemed enthusiastic about the idea, so I agreed. Little did I know what would happen once I showed up at the London studio the next week.


	2. Chapter 2

To say that the London of 1978 was far different from the one in which I was born would be a vast understatement. The city was an ideal vantage point for watching the world change, and changed it had. As I passed a sea of spiked hair, leather, and safety pins in my more classic bowler hat and mustache, the usual utterance of phrases like, “There goes Dracula,” gave way to far more colorful ones for which I would have been whipped beyond recognition if I had used them as a child. Trying my best to ignore it all, I stumbled and nearly fell as one punk stuck his boot out in front of me. As I stooped over to pick up my hat, I was just grateful that I was wearing a well-adhered hairpiece underneath it.

“What has happened to the world?” I muttered under my breath, making sure not to look back at the loitering youths who were now laughing at my expense. _Then again,_ I thought to myself, _what hasn’t happened?_ As I turned the corner to avoid a group of striking workers, I felt a tinge of guilt about it before I overheard one of them making a reference to a part of The Queen’s anatomy that I really didn’t need to picture in my mind. For once, I actually found myself wondering if I would find more civilized company back in Los Angeles.

When I arrived at the studio, I waited for security to check me in before going down the hallway to a room at the back. The thick cloud of smoke lingering in the air smelled only partially of tobacco, and it wasn’t until Mister Bowie himself appeared in eyeshadow and lipstick and asked everyone else to leave the room that I felt anywhere near comfortable enough to remove my hat.

“I hate to spoil the party,” I said. “I’m sorry, I thought you were one of the girls.”

“Sit down, won’t you?” He gestured towards a well-worn avocado green couch behind a glass table. “I’m glad you made it. I had them bring us some brandy.”

“Yes, I see that.” I sat down and took note of the brandy still in its bottle rather than in a decanter, as well as some used ash trays, a hand mirror with some traces of white powder and lipstick on it, and two large water glasses.

“I suppose I’ll have a partial glass,” I said.

“Not a whole one?” David took the bottle and poured a full glass before handing it to me. He then sat down next to me and poured a glass for himself.

“Cheers.” He clinked his glass against mine.

“Cheers,” I said before taking a sip. “Well,” I said in my most diplomatic tone, “this is nice.”

“I think so.” He downed half of his glass and set it on the table. “Sorry if it’s a bit smoky in here.”

“Oh, I’ve seen worse.” I drank a few more sips before setting down my glass. “Anyway, what kind of song are we recording?”

“Oh, that. Right.” He finished his glass and set it down. As he looked up, his blue eyes shifted under a dusty layer of eyeshadow. “You, um, sing opera?”

“Yes,” I said, “though I suppose I could experiment.”

“That’s good,” he said. “I like experimenting.”

“Why yes, I’ve noticed your creativity.” I finished my glass. “Are you sure this is brandy? It’s quite strong.”

“It’s good for the vocal chords,” he said. “Shall I take your jacket?”

“Well,” I said, “if you prefer. It is getting a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”

As I removed and folded the garment, Mister Bowie looked at it with great fascination. “I like the colors on that thing,” he said with a genuine smile that seemed uncharacteristic of him. “Do you always wear it with a yellow sweater underneath?”

“Only sometimes,” I said, putting my jacket aside. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged and refilled his glass. “Well, are you sure it’s a good match of colors and fabrics? Certainly, you can afford a better combination.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t come here for a fashion consultation.”

“Right, I apologize.” He sat back with his booted ankle crossed over his knee and drank from his glass. “Have some more brandy,” he said. “Loosen up.”

Taking my glass and refilling it with resignation, I said nothing back. It was at this moment that I had an idea of what Mister Bowie really wanted from me. Instead of following my conscience, though, I simply drank some more. Perhaps I just wanted to believe that my suspicions were all in my head. Either that, or the devil on my shoulder was taking advantage of my inebriated state like I suspected Mister Bowie wanted to do as well. Seeing him naked in that film changed something in me, though I originally thought that it was just the shock of the explicit content that had struck my senses. Soon enough, I had finished my glass.

“So,” I said as I set my glass down. “What was it that you really wanted? I mean, with all this?”

He set his glass down next to mine. “It depends on what you want. I take it you don’t sing falsetto, correct?”

I laughed. “I’m afraid not.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Going through puberty must have been interesting for you,” he said. “Tell me, do you really have three nipples?”

“Heavens, no!” I laughed again. “That was a prosthetic. The tan wasn’t real, either.”

“What about the love handles?” He teased.

“Those were real,” I said, looking away. “They might have grown since then.”

“Have they?” He said. “Show me.”

I shrank back at that while giving him a watchful stare. _Chris, you damned fool!_ I said to myself. _Why are you tolerating this insolent little pervert?_ I kept one eye on him and the other on the “exit” sign as I tried to think straight through the haze of alcohol in my brain.

“Well,” I said, “I suppose it is a bit warm in here for a sweater as well.”

It was quite warm, as the heater must have been on in the building that day. When I pulled the sweater off over my head, I almost felt relieved until I looked back at Mister Bowie and saw him unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is something wrong?” He looked up at me, shirt half unbuttoned and knowing stare radiating from his painted eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said as I held my sweater to my chest. “I... don’t know if I can commit--”

“There’s no commitment, dear.” He took his shirt off, revealing that tempting pale skin of his. “No one has to know.”

“That’s not what I meant.” My eyes shifted to the side. “I meant that I don’t know if I can commit this act. Please understand.”

“You mean you haven’t done this sort of thing?” He looked surprised. “I find that hard to believe.”

“No, I have,” I said before catching myself. “Oh God, what did I just say?”

“You said you’ve done this before.” He reminded me.

“Right,” I said, “but not in a long time. I just figured I was through with all that.”

He put his pale hand on my face and brushed my lower lip with his thumb. “Tell me,” he said, “how long’s it been since you’ve been with another man?”

I turned my head away from his hand. “Years,” I said. “Mostly experimenting.”

“Mostly?” He said with a smile in his voice.

“Does it matter?” I said back to him. “Anyway, those days are over and done with. I’m a happily married man now.”

“So?” He said. “That doesn’t mean what it used to.”

“Well, it does to _me._ ” I looked down and tried to find the opening in my sweater. “And I see now that this was a terrible mistake. I should leave.”

“What mistake?” He said. “We haven’t even done anything yet!”

“And I would _very_ much prefer to keep it that way.” I pulled my sweater back on, took my jacket under my arm, and grabbed the stained hand mirror to check my hairpiece.

“It looks fine.” I heard Mister Bowie say.

I shot him a glare.

“Besides, who cares?” He said. “It’s not your hair I’m interested in.”

As I walked out of the studio in a huff, I made it a point to avoid those I had seen on the way there. _I should have throttled him,_ I thought to myself as I hailed a cab, got in, and rode back to my rented flat for a long, hot shower.

After a good scrub under the hot water, I stepped out to shave off my mustache and shorten my sideburns. The events of the day didn’t leave me feeling violated, but I still felt unclean from having been there. I imagined my facial hair as being the sort that one would see on another kind of actor from that era; one whose main talents were squarely below the waist. The thought of me slipping into that culture myself brought on a near panic attack, and I pictured the shame that my family would endure if I had metamorphized into something like that. I was still receiving harsh moral criticism for my involvement in _To the Devil, A Daughter,_ and the last thing I wanted was for people to think that my intentions in doing that film were the worst kind imaginable.

I lay in bed that night, still awake, trying to forget. Soon, my mind went back to another night, in 1959, when the sheets were warmer and I was truly in love:

“What’s wrong?” I asked Peter from my side of the bed. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“Oh, of course.” Peter Cushing spoke just above a whisper in that purring dialect of his. His head was turned away, but I could tell he was upset about something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I said to him.

He paused for a moment. “Chris,” he said, “you know we can’t keep doing this. It’s illegal, for one thing.”

“Oh, here we go again!” I turned onto my back and put the palms of my hands over my eyes. “Do you really think anyone cares what we’re doing? They all know.”

“Helen doesn’t,” he said. “How could I tell her?”

I turned back to him. “You don’t have to,” I said. “Tell her the same thing we tell the press: it’s a close friendship.”

“A bit too close, I would think.” He turned on his back, still facing away from me. “And you know it’s improper.”

The way he said, _improper_ took on a sudden patronizing tone, almost like that of a disinterested schoolmaster. I had never heard him use that tone with me before.

“Peter?” I said. “You haven’t been using me, have you?”

“Oh no, no!” He smiled at me and took my hand. “Nothing of the sort. I still love you dearly.”

“You don’t think I’m a freak?” I said.

“What nonsense!” He turned to me and put his hand on my face. “Chris, if you’re a freak, it’s because you have things that others don’t: you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent, you’re vigorous...” He looked down. “You’re _very_ well-equipped, that I know for sure!” He laughed. “Someday, you’ll meet a special woman and you’ll make her very happy.” He gave my shoulder a playful hit. “ _Very_ happy!”

“Oh, you!” I gave his shoulder a hit back, prompting the two of us to keep hitting back and forth. We laughed, we embraced, and soon our bodies found themselves far ahead of where our minds could find them. It was perfect.

Thinking back to those days, I remembered Mister Bowie again. Knowing what I knew of him, he was probably thousands of miles away by now doing things that would kill me if I tried them. Still, as jaded as he was, he had to have some feelings left that hadn’t been numbed by his habits. If I could still feel human after all my otherworldly experiences, there was no reason he couldn’t as well.


	3. Chapter 3

The downstairs lobby of the building where I rented my spare flat had a seating area in the middle, complete with a grand piano usually meant for special functions. As I left the elevator and walked by the area, I heard a cheerful tune that prompted me to look over and see who was playing. Startled, I hoped that he would at least not notice me walking by. He did.

“Hello there!” Mister Bowie said as he stopped playing and got up to shake my hand. He was wearing a white suit and had a far soberer expression than last time. “Nice to see you again,” he said. “I feared you weren’t home.”

“Well, I was.” I remained as stoic as I could. “So, you found out where I am, then?”

“I asked some people.” He looked down and put his hands in his pockets. “I hope you don’t feel like I’m stalking you.”

“Well, I’m afraid you are.” I folded my arms. “Even if your name is all over the place, that doesn’t change it.”

“Hmmm,” he said, blushing and scratching the back of his neck. “I guess you have a point.”

I wasn’t sure if he was being vulnerable or if this was just an act. Either way, I wasn’t about to be moved.

“Of course, I have a point,” I said to him, remaining steadfast. “This is predatory behavior. I thought you were better than this.”

“You did?” His expression changed. “In what way?”

I looked around and noticed that people were stopping and staring at us.

“Mister Bowie...” I said.

“Call me David.”

“David,” I continued, “look, I know that you’re not a dangerous individual. I just think that your approach to this is inappropriate.”

“Well,” he said, “what do you think my approach should be?”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. “Are you serious?” I said. “Just how unschooled in reality are you?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “Maybe you can teach me?”

“Good Lord!” I looked at my watch. “Well, I suppose we’ve got time to talk about it. Let’s just go upstairs before we have any more onlookers.”

Why I invited David into my flat rather than chased him away is still beyond me. I may have identified with what he was saying about not knowing how to approach people. Even though I normally put forth a confident exterior, that was just as much a façade as my portrayal of otherworldly villains. It had been years since I had last put my true self forward for anybody to see. Perhaps it was just a symptom of my schooling, where a mere slip in one’s verb conjugations meant a slap on the hand with a ruler. Had I not found sanctuary in the arts, I might have become a villainous monster in real life.

“Sit down, won’t you?” I gestured to the sofa, which was far more proper than the one in that studio the day before.

“Oh, this is...” He took a minute to sit down. “Why, this is quite ornate, isn’t it? How much did it cost you?”

“Oh, that thing?” I returned with a silver tray that held a decanter of brandy and two crystal glasses. “I don’t remember. Maybe when I was in Switzerland.”

I set the tray down on the antique table in front of the sofa before sitting myself down on the adjacent loveseat. “Now,” I said, “isn’t this more proper?”

David gave me a look like I had just told a terrible joke before saying, “It’s nice.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” I said.

“Nothing.” He started giggling. “No, it’s actually fine. Much better than what I had, I suppose.”

“Well, of course!” I said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Why, yes,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be, indeed?” He took a glass. “Can I pour it, or is this part of a ceremony?”

At that point, I could see why he was so amused.

“Well,” I took his glass from him, “I suppose I’ll pour the drinks since I’m the host.” I poured some brandy into his glass, then some into mine. “I think you’ll find that _this_ is of a much higher label.”

“What label?” He looked at the decanter. “I don’t see one.”

I gave him another look.

“Just kidding,” he said, taking his glass. “So, shall we propose a toast? Or, rather, shall you do it?”

“I’ll do it.” I sat back down and held up my glass. “To our health,” I said. “May we both reach a ripe old age.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, “but okay. To our health, all things considered.”

After I sipped at my glass and David finished his, he put his glass down on the table. “That is good,” he said.

“I’m glad you like it.” I took another sip from my glass. “So,” I decided to press him, “where are you from, originally?”

“Brixton area,” he said. “It’s changed a lot.”

“Yes, it has.” I nodded my head. “Is, um, David Bowie your real name?”

“No,” he said, “David Robert Jones. I changed it so it wouldn’t get confused with Davy Jones.”

“Ah yes, him.” I finished my glass. “Bit short, isn’t he?”

“Well, he’s not as tall as _you_ are.” He said. “If you don’t mind my saying so.” He gave me a smile. “Usually I’m the taller one in the room.”

“Hmmm, yes.” I set my glass down, only to forget where I was going with my conversation. There were all sorts of reminders by then that I was getting older, none of which I liked very much.

“You have nice eyes,” I heard him say.

“What?” I looked up at him. “What about my eyes?”

“I said they’re nice.” He leaned back and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. “Nice lips, too. You look better without the mustache.”

“And you look better without that makeup,” I said back.

He shrugged. “I like the makeup,” he said. “Shall we have another drink?”

For some odd reason, I said yes. Soon the entire decanter was empty and David was sitting next to me on the loveseat with his hand on my leg.

“I’m so glad you’ve invited me here,” he said, his hand moving further up my thigh. “Let’s see what you have here... oh!” He grabbed my cock. “Nice. Do you want to see mine?”

“I, um...” It was hard for me to speak for obvious reasons. I knew David was a man of pleasures, as I had been a few times myself. Still, we were far more subtle back in my day.

“I think I already saw yours,” I finally said. “In that film.”

“Did you like it?” He said, his hand still exploring.

“What, the film?” I asked. “Or the, um, other thing?”

He took my neck in his other hand and pulled me towards him. He nibbled at my ear, stuck his tongue in it, then said into it, “You want me to give it to you right here?”

“I... don’t know what I want.” My will was breaking now. As outrageous as all this was, I couldn’t say no to him.

“Here, touch it.” He grabbed my hand and put it between his legs. “What do you think?”

“Good Lord!” I shrank back a little after feeling how big he was. “You want to stick that thing into _me?_ At _my_ age??”

“I can take yours if you want,” he said as he put his hand to my chest. “Just relax. Are you nervous?”

I looked at him, offended that he would think of me as some shivering virgin. Ironically, this was how my machismo won over my senses that day.

“No,” I said. “You can touch me. I don’t mind it much, as long as you’re careful.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He pulled my jacket off of my shoulders and went for my tie. “I know what I’m doing.”

He removed my tie and started to unbutton my shirt. He pulled my shirt back to either side and rubbed the hair on my chest with his left hand. With his right arm, he pulled me closer to him and leaned in to kiss me on the mouth. The taste of his arousal excited me, as did the smell of his pale skin heating up.

“I’m enjoying our little recording session,” he said into my ear. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes!” My body yielded to him. “Any time you want, darling.” I kissed his brow. “Any time.”

His left hand then went between my legs again and just held me. As my breath quickened, he started rubbing my cock over my trousers while his mouth traveled down to my chest. He buried his face in my chest hair, kissing me and seizing my nipple to suck on it. Then, his head and hands pulled away as he unbuckled my belt and pulled down my zipper, exposing my hardness under my briefs. He pulled the waistband down and smiled at the sight of my naked genitals. He looked back up at my face, watching my expression as he took me into his hand. He then looked back down and started teasing my slit with his tongue.

“Mmmmm...” My head craned back as I leaned further against the loveseat. I ran my hand through David’s bleached hair and said, “Yes, do it! You know what I want, don’t you?”

David laughed. “If you’re from London like me, of course. I know what you want, Daddy.”

“Don’t call me that!” I said, trying not to break the mood. “Look,” I said, “I overheard people in the lobby wondering if I was your father, which I’m not. Just take me, will you?”

Expert that he was, David had me all the way down his throat before I knew it. God, he was good! I was so taken by him that my arms fell at my sides and my mind was blotted out by nebulas and explosions of light that made me wonder if this was anything like the euphoria one reaches before death. My hips bucked and my arse squeezed together in perfect rhythm.

“Mmmm, you’re such a whore, David,” I said. “A weird little whore. But you know that, don’t you? And you love it!”

It wasn’t until he took me out of his mouth that I opened my eyes and saw him removing his clothes. My cock was red and wet, just dripping for him to touch me again. Too overwhelmed to speak, I watched how quickly he had his clothes off before embracing me again.

“Just stay right there,” he said as his thin, white body climbed over me. He kissed my face and neck. “You sweat a lot, don’t you?” He took me into his hand again and crouched down. “I like that. Let me make you sweat even more.”

I gasped a bit as my prick went into his entrance. Further up and in, I could feel every groove inside of him give way to my sensitive tip and shaft. With his experienced flesh squeezing me tight, David took my shoulders and kissed me hard on the mouth. As his nimble body rode me on the loveseat, up and down, his tongue found its way down my throat. His arms wrapped around me, under my shirt, and pulled me towards him while his arse kept moving and pushing back. I grabbed his arse with both hands to steady him, being careful not to send the loveseat falling backwards with him on me.

He said in my ear, “Your cock feels so good, darling. I’ve been dreaming of it ever since you first looked at me.” He nibbled at my ear and said, “I could tell you wanted me. I can always tell.”

“Oh, and you were right!” I kissed his pale neck.

“You want to bite my neck, Count?” He teased. “Go on, bite my neck while I fuck you. It’ll be _glorious!_ ”

“No, I...” I was close. “Oh God!”

“Ooh, cum inside me, love!” He squeezed me harder, drawing me into his body with each squeeze of his experienced arse. “Do it!”

I let out a silent scream as my hot fluids rushed out of my body and into his. With that last bit of stimulation, he came as well, onto my abdomen. The thick, clinging flood of white mingled with the dark hair on my body. He put two fingers into the sticky pool and brought them up to my mouth for me to suck on them. I did, savoring the bitter salt of his essence like I was revisiting the best moments of my youth through him.

David raised his leg and dismounted me, leaving me sweaty and breathless on the loveseat with my shirt open and my cock hanging out. David gave me a kiss on the cheek before he sat next to me naked and lit a cigarette. Tears escaped my eyes and mingled with the sweat on my face as I didn’t quite know what I felt. I just knew that it was intense, if not profound in some odd way. It was unlike any other encounter I’d had during my life’s adventures, but I didn’t have the nerve to tell him that much.


	4. Chapter 4

When David was done with me, he put on his clothes and walked out while I was still trying to gather my thoughts about what just happened. While I knew quite well what we had just done with each other, my feelings about it were mixed. With my brain in a fog, I stood up from the loveseat where the two of us just had our tryst and buttoned my trousers up before heading off to the shower yet again.

The next morning was when the guilt started to take hold. Perhaps some of it was from the alcohol, but the pain and nausea I felt while working that day had to be emotional as well. When I returned to the flat, I immediately called my wife who was back in our condominium in Los Angeles.

“Darling,” I said to her on the telephone, “I just need to know that you’re still there. I just...” The tears started. “I just miss you and Christina so much. You’re my angels, I want you to know that.”

She asked me if there was something wrong that she could be concerned about, as I suppose anyone would when hearing someone crying on the other end of the telephone.

“No, nothing’s wrong...” I had to grab my handkerchief to catch the tears flowing. “I just realized, though, how cold it is back here in England. Not just the weather, but...” The handkerchief was soaked and I was a sobbing mess. “I think it may have driven me mad without me realizing it. It was all normal growing up, but it’s different now. I miss my angels. I miss you.”

I could hear her voice console me just like a mother would, or at least a mother that wasn’t like the one I had. The thought of what I had done the previous day brought forth more tears and more nausea. My body had been craving attention, and David sensed that craving. What would my wife think if I told her how good it felt, and how I wanted him again?

“You’re a better woman than I could ever deserve,” I said to her. “I’m so sorry I’ve been such a selfish and arrogant bastard sometimes. It’s my upbringing.”

The call lasted for several minutes, and I thought that I would feel better after making it. I did, in a way, considering how much sadness I was able to let out. But, it wasn’t enough; I still needed to be touched. Badly.

I was going over a script when the telephone rang. I was hoping it was my wife again, but I also knew it wasn’t.

“I liked our little session yesterday,” David’s voice said, unmistakable as it was. “Would you like to have another go at it? Maybe switch things up a little?”

“Switch things up?” I said. “In what way?”

“You know,” he said, “just... opening yourself up.”

“You mean...?” I knew exactly what he meant.

“I want to feel you,” he said. “Inside.”

My hole twitched and trembled just thinking about it. I hadn’t taken a good cock up the arse in years, and I remembered how I always loved it.

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like that. We can use the bed this time.”

“I’ll bring some lube, of course,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “Seriously, though, be sure to make it. Try not to be conspicuous this time.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said before hanging up.

As I waited for David to show up, I wondered if I should serve drinks first. If he was going to take me from behind, I thought, maybe alcohol would be good to have. Then, once I caught myself thinking this way about such things, I felt embarrassed -- and then worried.

After I got married, I figured that times like this were over and I could be a straight and proud family man. No more sneaking around with strangers of both sexes, or trying and failing to get Peter to give it all up and run away with me forever. I was so reckless and arrogant in those days that it’s a miracle I wasn’t shot dead by a jealous spouse or put in the dock like Oscar Wilde. And even though the laws were different now and I didn’t have to speak Polari as one of my languages anymore, the idea of slipping further and further into potentially humiliating depravity still scraped at my nerves.

When I received a call from the doorman about a Mister Robert Jones coming to see me, I sighed and said, “Let him in.”


	5. Chapter 5

David came in and kissed me right away. He had a brown paper bag that, I figured, held the lubricant. Still nervous, I had to have him lead me to the bedroom after I told him where it was. We got into the room and he undressed right away, garments falling everywhere like paper, while I took care to fold my clothes and put them on a chair. I blushed at my nakedness, expecting him to be turned off by my middle-aged body. He wasn’t.

“Are you sure this isn’t your first time?” He said, climbing naked onto the bed like a white cat.

“I’m sure,” I said, stepping up and into the bed beside him. “I just thought it was a phase, that’s all.”

“That’s what I hoped at first.” He smiled without his eyes. “Then again, Ancient Greeks did it without much thought.

“Sure they did,” I said. “Of course, every culture has people doing things whether it’s frowned upon or not.” I sighed. “But they say that once your body is corrupted...”

“Then what?” He said.

“Well,” I said, “they say there’s no going back, whatever that means. I thought I could be the exception when I got married, but now I’m here. With you.” I looked at him. “Nothing against you, of course, it just feels like a lot to go back to at this point in my life.”

“I understand what you mean.” He took my hand and examined my fingers. “But I’d never hurt you.” He kissed my knuckles, one at a time. “And as easy as you are to fall in love with, I promise I won’t burden you with that either.”

I laughed. “You really do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” I lowered my hand. “I guess you’ve had your share of naïve virgins already.”

“Oh, God!” He laughed. “I’d rather not think about that.” He got in front of me, reached out, and rubbed my shoulders. “I’ll take care of you, darling,” he said. “I promise.”

I put my hands around his narrow torso, dwarfing it with my long fingers. Looking back up at him, I said, “I’m ready.”

We embraced and kissed, our arms coiled around each other’s backs like snakes. Every move and every level of our grip had a heavy meaning to it, all expressing a pure, carnal intent that could only be felt by two men saying yes. Excited beyond thought, I had him on his back, my hands rushing to feel every brilliant inch of him. I kissed his neck and chest, as well as his stomach and his cock, with speed and fury. I took his cock into my hand.

“Beautiful,” I said, kissing it again. I took it into my mouth and down my throat.

“Oh, you _have_ done this before, haven’t you?” His hand stroked the back of my head. “Hmmm, I might cum more than once tonight, in both your holes.”

I kept sucking at him, rubbing the base of his shaft with my hand a few times to work him over better. He came down my throat.

“Swallow it all, darling,” he said. “That’s it.”

After drinking from him, I moved myself back up over his face to give his mouth a long kiss. He seemed to like tasting himself as much as I did.   

“Do you want it now?” He said into my ear. “I’ll ease you into it.”

“Okay.” I sat back. “You know what to do.”

David sat up, reached over the bed, and took the bottle of lubricant out of the bag. He put the bottle on the side table.

“You sure you’ll need that much?” I said.

“At least,” he replied. “Can’t be too careful. Now, lay on your stomach.”

I lay on the bed with my head on the pillow and my feet spread apart just a little. My elbows were bent and my hands gripped the pillow with trepidation.

“There,” he said, stroking my back. “So nice.” He crouched down and kissed my ear. “Nice and clean, too. Perfect.”

He kept kissing and caressing me down my back, further down, until he had both of his hands rubbing my bottom. He gave it a playful slap, making me flinch and turn around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “you don’t like that?”

I thought about it. “Well,” I said as I turned back onto my stomach, “I like the way you do it.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice teased me as I felt another slap. “Were you a naughty boy at school?”

“I was, actually,” I said, laughing just a bit.

“Mmmm, I like that.” His finger teased my anus. “I like that a lot.”

He put his finger inside of me, then stuck in another. Soon, he found the prostate and gave it a merciless rub.

“Oh, yes!” My eyes closed as I moaned into the pillow.

“So nice.” His fingers pulled out of me and his hands pulled apart my buttocks. He stuck the tip of his tongue into my anus, swirling it around and teasing every nerve he knew was there. His tongue slithered deep inside of me, darting around like a small animal looking for a place to nest.

“Good God, David!” I felt the sweat form on my body again. “You’re amazing... take me!”

He got up. “I certainly will,” he said, walking over to the side table and grabbing the lubricant bottle. “Just relax.”

My eyes looked back just enough to notice him pouring the lubricant into his hand and slathering it on his cock. I saw him rub it a bit, maybe to get himself hard again. Then, I flinched as a cold spatter of the same liquid hit my arse. I felt his fingers inside me again, this time getting me wet and ready for him to penetrate.

“Your hole is quite sensitive,” he said as he put the bottle aside on the bed. “I don’t know if that means you’ll love this or hate it.” He lifted my hips up just a little and put his tip against my entrance. “Are you ready for it?”

“Oh yes!” My eyes were closed again. “Give it to me.”

He pushed slowly into me, first with the tip. I had forgotten how painful it could be to take someone in back there, and the intense burning was like an infernal punishment. My hands grasped the pillow as I bit into it to keep from screaming. Then, as I figured from previous experiences, it got worse: he was sliding in his shaft, tunneling into my flesh until he was balls deep inside of me. I was moaning into the pillow, my teeth clenched on the fabric, afraid that one false move of his prick would tear a hole in me so big that I would bleed to death on the bed.

“Fuck, you’re tight!” His hand caressed my buttock. “I’ll try not to hurt you too badly.” He pulled part of himself out of me before pushing back in, harder and faster this time.

“Ooh yes,” he said, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to you!” He leaned over, still inside me, and stroked my thighs. His hands reached up to my buttocks and slapped me again. “Beg for it.”

“More!” I said after freeing my mouth. “Come on, fuck me!”

He gave me another thrust, then another. As much as it hurt at first, my body became flexible enough to take in as much of his cock as possible. I raised my head so I could breathe harder.

“You like it now, old man?” He said, thrusting faster and slamming his pelvis against me. “Do you?”

“Oh yes,” I said, “I forgot how much I love this!”

“I bet you do, you whore!” He pulled out of me and turned me over on my back. He climbed towards me and lifted my legs onto his shoulders, one before the other.

“I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He used his hand to guide his cock back into me. “I want to watch you cum while you’re being fucked. I want to see everything.”

With my legs pushed back and his hands around my hips, he drilled himself into me again. I tried to be expressionless, but it felt too good for me not to show how much I was loving this. Sweat was pouring down my face as my inner muscles drew him in, trying to get as much of that cock in me as possible. I was close.

“I’m cumming, David!” My head was tilted back. “I’m cumming!”

“Let me see it!” He pulled my legs further apart. “Don’t use your hands. Just let it out...”

The hot liquid exploded from my urethra and spilled onto my abdomen and chest. There was so much of it, and my pulsating balls kept making more as I lay there with my eyes shut and David’s cock still pushing in and out of my tender hole. I thought I would never stop cumming, and I almost wished that time would stop so that he would stay inside of me.

“Such a beautiful sight,” he said. “Mmmm, you know what I’d like to do? I wish I could hold you down like this,” he said, pinning my wrists down, “in the middle of The Square, and fuck you with everyone watching.” He thrusted harder. “I want to give the public the chance to see your cock go into climax while you’re being fucked in the arse. It’s the loveliest thing in the world.”

I didn’t know how to answer such a statement. David was, indeed, a perverted bastard, and I loved it. I wanted him to use my body every way he could think of, and I knew he could do it all with amazing skill. Tears flowed from my eyes again as I felt a few more hot drops squeeze out of me. It was a sign of full surrender from my body and mind. I was his now.


	6. Chapter 6

David left again after climaxing inside of me. I fell asleep right there in the bed, naked and used, with my arsehole still dripping his spunk onto the bedsheets. David had just marked his territory inside of me, and I wanted to wear the evidence. I imagined the shock anyone would feel if they walked in on me in that state, seeing me covered in spunk with a lubricant bottle at my feet and a satisfied expression on my face. The Count had, indeed, been defeated once again, this time seduced and turned into just another London whore. Well played, David.

I gave myself a good scrub in the shower the next morning. My practice singing was at a better pitch than usual, and my body felt well-rested despite what it had been through last night. After the cleaning, dressing, and grooming, I looked back at the bed and wondered what the maid would think when she saw the mess. Already in a hurry, I hid the lubricant bottle in the bedside drawer before stepping out for work.

People noticed the difference in me right away. The hair and makeup department said that I looked younger and that my eyes were sparkling. My story was that I was taking some new vitamins, but I couldn’t think of what vitamins to make up when they asked what they were.

After shooting yet another death scene, I saw David sitting at a café being interviewed. I didn’t want him to notice me, so I ducked into a shop that had its door opened so I could eavesdrop on them. A man caught me at the door, but he only wanted my autograph. He sounded excited, which had me worried that he would give me away. After he left, I peeked around the door to see the back of David’s head. The young female interviewer caught my eye and looked frightened, causing David to turn around. I hid myself inside again and pretended to browse the shop before purchasing a record that I didn’t really want.

Thankfully, my loneliness went away when my wife called and said that she was coming over to stay with me until I could get back to Los Angeles. Of course, she would see and feel the change in me as well, and would wonder what happened. When she arrived, I told her that it was just the London air reminding me of the old days, and that I might want to move the family back at some point. I also told her that the lubricant she found in the drawer was for us.

After all that, I tried not to think of David again. My flesh still craved him, of course, and sometimes I would need a moment with myself before continuing with my day. That feeling lasted a few months, though, and I was glad to be done with it. Still, as loveless as it all was, David left his mark on me quite well. I would blush whenever I saw his face or heard his music, and of course those were everywhere. Sometimes I wondered if some divine force was taunting me as punishment for my sins, but then I realized that everyone else could see and hear him as well. Who knew how many others felt as I did, for the same reason? Who else was walking among the London crowd and having similar memories?

Years later, I was at a party when someone grabbed my arse. I turned around, ready to take a swing at whoever it was, only to see David smiling at me and drinking from a crystal glass. I told him that I didn’t know what to say to him, and he said that was okay. Then he said that he had improved his chess game a bit, but thought it would be nice if I taught him some golf. Against my better judgment, I agreed. We never even finished the game before it happened all over again.


End file.
